


June 16th, 2012

by VictoriaWoodmaine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John Watson's Blog, John's POV, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Unposted blog entry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaWoodmaine/pseuds/VictoriaWoodmaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Fall John seeks comfort in the one thing that is left of his life with Sherlock - his blog.</p><p>This is his complete final blog entry of which only the last line made it onto the actual blog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	June 16th, 2012

**Author's Note:**

> I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE FOR THE FEELS.
> 
>  
> 
> I do not give permission to repost, reproduce or archive this fanfic in part or in it's entirety to any other website except with prior written consent provided by myself, nor any profit be made from any of these works under any circumstances whatsoever.

 

 

I am a soldier.

  
I am a doctor.

  
The last people to lose their faith in a crisis should be soldiers and doctors.

  
And yet at times I find myself unable to know what to believe anymore.

 

  
No, scratch that.

Manifested deep down in the core of my heart I know that everything he told me, everything he did- for  
me- was entirely genuine and true.

And that the lies he set free upon that day on that rooftop died with  
him the moment he hit the ground.

  
He might have been vicious at times. Impolite and mean. But I am a grown man. I have dealt with  
enough people, enough different characters to know the difference between a truly foul personality and  
those that put up a charade to protect themselves from the dissapointment of the world.

  
And what a masterpiece of art his was.

 

  
The moment I met him I wasn't quite sure what to think.

  
He was as fast forward, energetic and confusing as he always would be. But the cold demeanor-that  
detachment he put up so easily to the public eye- he completely forgot about it in one of those first  
moments in 221b where he asked me if I was any good as a doctor and I had replied with a confident  
'yes'. It was there that I first saw that childlike curiosity and thrill about what he clearly already knew  
would become our friendship.

  
In many aspects my best friend was a grown man with the spirit of a child. The way he viewed the  
world-unaware of his surroundings or peoples reactions as he lost himself completely in his work- his  
game.

  
The uncertainty when it came to human feelings. Like he was yet to experience the many ups and  
downs and turnarounds that everyone experiences while growing up. Like he never knew how serious  
life could be- but at the same time so easily dealing with the most dreadful experience any human being  
can make- the horrors of death.

  
His brain was that of a genius.

But his heart was that of a child.

  
And that he put the responsibility of dealing with his emotions in me, that he always relied on my  
advice and guidance to understand what made people do or say certain things. It showed how much he  
was aware of his faults.

  
And that he wanted to change it.

  
Privately.

  
He wanted to grow up. And that makes him a better person than anyone else I have ever met. Probably  
even better than myself at times.

  
From the outside it appeared that he was completely unable to relate to the feelings of others. Oblivious  
to human compassion. But if anyone would have simply taken their time and looked closer- they would  
have seen what I was priviledged to witness for the little eternity that our friendship lasted.

  
If you think about it, it's obvious. And it pains me to use that exact word, I will never be able not to  
hear spoken in his voice whenever I think of it- Sherlock Holmes was curious about everything he  
didn't understand. What puzzled him.  
A complex mystery would always bring him the greatest of joy. And he would have been an idiot of  
first class had he been ignorant of the most precious mystery of humanity- human emotion.

  
He did not die as an idiot. The coldhearted prat and fake that the world and especially the press are so  
eager to see him as.

  
To me he died as a hero.

  
And to me he died as a child.

  
The world had brought him to a point where he doubted his own abilities.

  
The single purpose that he set his life up for.

  
He lost faith in the importance of his own existence.

  
And that makes the tragedy of it all so unbearable.

  
Because he was important to me.

  
Because I will forever be the only person to know the real Sherlock Holmes.

  
Because he let me.

 

  
He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him.


End file.
